


Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before

by 2old4this4real



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-14 01:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14759906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2old4this4real/pseuds/2old4this4real
Summary: A mercenary and a freelancer walk into a bar.





	1. Chapter 1

Benny was two hours late. That shit happens, especially to a low-life weasel like the guy Jay was meeting. On the other hand, he might not be a lot of things, but Benny was punctual. He was also useful enough to get jobs that put him close to the action. He was clever enough to stay unnoticed. Sooner or later though, one of the power players whose secrets he was selling would catch on and that would be the end of Jay’s one-stop information quickmart. Jay didn’t trust him an inch, but would miss his source when he was inevitably squashed like a roach.  


Scowling at his glass, he was ready to call it a wash. Swirling his drink, quality liquor would have clung to the side and had a smooth burn going down his throat. He’d been here long enough that this wasn’t his first drink. He wasn’t here for the quality of the drinks, although they did have some decent stuff behind the top rail. He didn’t like to use the same R-point regularly, but The Drop has a lot to recommend it. From the shadowed vantage point at the short leg of the bar, Jay had full view of the two entrances. His preferred seat kept his back to the corner while offering a peripheral view of the last and least likely way into the room. The mirrors behind the rows of bottles above the bar provided additional lines of sight. When he came in and the bartender poured him “the usual” without asking, he made a note to take the place out of rotation for a while. Randy was good; better than, but if his infrequent visits were enough to make him a regular, he was coming in too often. Randy was good with more than matching faces and drinks. Jay's routine check found a wife, two kids, a pool league with other hard-working clean-nosed guys, and amazing enough tips to keep his family in comfortable working-class style while sending his girls to a better school across town. He didn’t report tips on his taxes, but that was basic money management rather than ethical failure. Randy was a good people. Jay didn’t trust him an inch, but he would miss him when he stopped rendezvousing at The Drop. If Benny had been caught, that would be tonight. Jay knew enough about carrots and sticks to encourage loyalty, but Benny would never stay loyal to anything other than to his own skin and the cash that supported his self-harming habits. Best case scenario, he’d be splattered across the floor before he had the chance to spill the little he knew about Jay.  


He’d give it fifteen more minutes before he’d bail. He was torn between taking the night as a dead loss and squeezing in an abbreviated run-through on his way to crash. Short of wholesale societal reform, there would always be work keeping the dark places from collapsing into the bad sort of anarchy. Crime wasn’t limited to cities, but every city had its version of the narrows. He couldn’t keep his thumb on all of them, but he could help out with the one in front of him, for old time sake. It was times like this where he found himself in bemused agreement with Ra’s and his better-world-order goals. Not that a monomaniac trying to fix the world by tearing it apart ever came out well. Why does no one remember Cambodia when making plans for world domination? Jay smiled tightly and coughed into his fist to cover his dark amusement. Sitting alone at the bar and laughing to himself wouldn’t be inconspicuous. Short of a magical benevolent revolution, there would always be work breaking heads and taking names for the next round of head breaking. Sometimes he missed the straightforwardness of hands-on work behind the mask, rather than this backroom management of espionage bullshit.  


There were things he could get done tonight, but there were more important things to do tomorrow. Lately, his body had developed a finer appreciation for sleep. Work-life balance was a joke, as ever, but running on no rest and Zesti-aid would put him flat on his back these days. Bright-eyed at fourteen, he never thought he’d be sitting alone in a bar contemplating the compromises of middle age. Jay snorted. Bruce was still running parkour across rooftops and jaunting off into space. His joint had to be killing him. Jay had his suspicions about how much of Bruce’s cartilage was still terrestrial in origin and how much was Kryptonian nanotech. He’d be damned if he’d let the old man show him up. If Benny showed, his excuse had better be more impressive than Jay could come up with off hand or he'd take his nostalgia out on the guy.  
Expecting nothing, he scanned the booths on the opposite wall one last time. No Benny; time to pay up and call it a night. Reaching into his pocket to grab a couple of bills to toss on the bar, the shiver of someone being too damn close prickled the back of his neck. How in the *hell* had someone gotten onto the stool next to him without being seen? Based on his damned life, he shouldn’t be surprised at the impossible showing up at his elbow. It was rare that anyone could catch him unaware or have the nerve to pull up next to him. He was well past his resurrection crazies of randomly stabbing anyone in reach, but he could still work the dangerously crazy vibe to cut the amount of shit he had to put up with. Dealing with vodka-fueled delusions of invulnerability wasn’t the way he would prefer to end what was likely his last night at a bar he enjoyed. Sizing up the guy with a side-eyed glance, he adjusted his assessment of the likelihood of a physical confrontation from “would prefer not to” into “may need to” with a side of “strongly prefer not to”. He wasn’t the only one who knew how to radiate “do-not-approach”. He rarely came across someone big enough and with enough presence to make him feel scrawny. Objectively, the guy wasn’t that much bigger, but he carried himself aggressively. The night was not getting better. Narrowing his eyes in annoyance, he sipped his drink and held it in his mouth for a second before swallowing briskly. Across the bar, Randy poured two fingers of Highland Park Single Malt into a glass and slid it to Mr. Danger. He took a savoring sip and nodded his approval before Randy left to take care of the rest of the crowd.  


Jay nonchalantly released the tension from his shoulders. Obvious tells are for amateurs. He didn’t like the deference in Randy’s pause any more than he would have liked it from Alfred. The master of his domain shouldn’t scuttle. He was definitely getting too attached to the place.  
“Share the joke, Todd. I could always use a laugh.”  


Bloody *hell*. Between that voice, the build, and glimpse of white hair, he recognized the guy. His almost-right voice vibrated between Jay’s ribs and curled into his chest; reminding him of comfort and home with a dose of I’m-going-to-die-messily. Home had never been unambiguous.  


“Well golly, Chuckles, how did you know I’m here to entertain you?” Fabulous, open-ended questions encourage conversation; better to cut and run, or snark and saunter. From his experience stalking targets, he knew that running only encourages predators. Bantering in the face of death was his shtick, but bantering with Deathstoke required significant planning, a ready diversion, and lower potential for collateral damage. Propping his chin in his palm, he channeled all his don’t-give-a-fuck-to-see-you into his grin when he looked over at Wilson. Wilson unnecessarily straightened the collar of his leather field jacket and smirked at him over his glass. The exit that would best keep his back facing away from Wilson didn’t provide optimal cover once he left the building. On the other hand, breaking for the best cover would leave him shuffling backwards like a ridiculous performance artist with a terrible sense of timing.  


“You already are. I see you casing the doors”, sharp amusement bright in Wilson’s voice, before slipping to a different register. “Think of it as a training exercise.” Jay’s smile cracked along the edges. He covered the flinch, but his eyes were meaner. No matter how mercilessly he dug out that trigger, the bat-voice may as well be physical hook in his gut dragging him to attention.  
“I just love pointless drills, Batman!”  


“Hnn. Nice.” His smile would have been pleasant if the light in his eye wasn’t so hard. “Better than other bat-lings I’ve baited. I haven’t heard a Robin that chipper since Grayson was punching sharks in his panties”.  


“I have zero interest in stories about Grayson’s panty sharks and have never found celebrity impression diverting. *If* you’ll excuse me. Places to be. People to thwart…” Closest door, it is. Rolling to his feet – his butt slammed back down onto the inadequately padded stool. Wilson’s hard, *damn huge* hand squeezed Jay’s shoulder sharply, flexing the cartilage before letting go.  


“Relax, Todd. I’m enjoying our talk. I haven’t had my dose bat-angst in too long.”  


“Afraid I’m fresh out, Wilson. I haven’t had a bat-*anything* for a long time.”  


“Kid, you’re not old enough for a “long time” to apply to you. It’d be a shame to forget your roots.”  


Roots didn’t have a lot to recommend them. Jay’s smile was mostly teeth. “Nah, I believe in burning bridges. Nuking cities might be overkill.”  


Wilson’s expression flickered darkly before settling into a sour twist.  


“Touché.” He tipped his glass in salute and knocked back the rest of his very nice scotch. Jay raised his empty glass, miming a toast, and put it back on the bar. Wilson looked speculatively between Jay and the glass before rapping on the bar and gesturing for Randy. Randy put down the drink he was mixing and hustled over. “I’ll take another.” Wilson smirked, “and one for - ”  


“I’ll have another.” Jay gestured to his own glass.  


Randy glanced uncomfortably between them. He wasn’t going to piss one of them off by following the other’s instructions. Smart man.  
“I’m buying. You don’t need to be a cheap date.”  


Jay arched an eyebrow and waited; like he based his drink choices on price. Thinking of the powerhouses – tougher than Wilson – he’d taken down made it easier to keep his expression mild while looking him in the eye.  


“Your loss; passing up Highland Park for that swill.” Randy poured Wilson’s drink from a dusty bottle off of the top rail and Jay’s from an unlabeled bottle under the bar. Wilson nodded permission for Randy to return to mixing the drink he’d abandoned. Shaking his head at Jay’s glass, “it’s a damn shame.”  


Eyes on his glass, Jay smiled before downing his drink. Wilson snorted.  


“If that’s the way you’re going to treat your drink, you deserve what you’ve got.” He smiled at Jay like they were sharing a joke. Jay was at a loss. Hostility, he expected. Laughing off aggression was all in a day’s work. The bland amusement set him on edge. He calculated the likelihood of success against the indignity of being shoved back onto his seat. Jay suppressed a sigh and stayed parked on the stool.  


“Is there something you want? I’ve had about all of the fun here I can stand.”  


“You didn’t say you were looking for fun.” Wilson purred. He had to be messing with him. He watched Jay sharply. Jay had enjoyed watching opponents twist when he used a similar gimlet stare. Unless – he really hoped he was reading this wrong. He squeezed his eyelids shut too tightly to pass off as a blink.  


“Look, I wore that short pants long enough to recognize a Pervy Robin Fancier when I meet one, but”, he waved his hand in front of his chest, “This isn’t the Robin you are looking for.”  


“I think you’re misunderstanding me. Also, that only works on the weak willed.” Wilson chuckled. “You’re dating yourself with movie references.”  


“I’m. *I’m* dating myself… It’s a classic. The hell?” The fact that he was having this conversation was surreal and it had taken a sharp left turn. Was he trying to be *companionable*? Jay eyed him critically and decided to bite. “You caught the reference.”  


“The original was popular again when my… Kids.”  


Their drinks were suddenly fascinating. He'd heard about some shit that had happened with Joseph and Rose while he was dancing around with Eurasia's Most Wanted. If half of it was true, Jay didn't want to come within a mile of it.  


Movement in the mirror behind the bar caught Jay's eye. The way the guy was skulking towards the back booths screamed *LOOK AT ME* to anyone with a suspicious nature. Of course Benny had to show up now. That gave Jay the pleasure of choosing between compromising his contact to Slade Fucking Wilson or missing the chance to get the information he was waiting for. The flashdrive could be lifted easily enough, but a failed attempt at the password would wipe the data and blow the drive. The operation would be significantly delayed if he didn’t talk to Benny tonight. The opportunity to torment the little creep for wasting his time was also worth taking into account.  


“Well, it’s been fun.” Wilson laced his fingers together and stretched his muscled arms above his head, watching Benny in the mirror. His shirt pulled tight and the leather sleeves of his jacked creaked. Jay eyed him, nonplussed for a second. He’d seen more remarkable things that Deathstroke in a stretch-fit button down with leather bunching at his shoulders. Wilson reached under his jacket, ever so casually.  
Jay pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t suppose I could convince you not to kill my snitch.” Without much hope, he added, “Professional courtesy?”  


The good cheer he turned on Jay boded poorly. “Last time we discussed professional courtesy, you fell all over yourself trying to convince me that we weren’t in the same field and that there was no reason to kill you outright as competition.” Wilson smiled, “Suddenly you want to join the club. How *mercenary* of you.”  


“Pointing out we aren’t in the market for the same jobs isn’t falling all over myself.” Jay had a bad feeling about Benny’s odds tonight. That someone would pay Wilson’s fee over the squirt smacked of mystery. Jay did love a good mystery. He flashed a grin, “Any number of people would like to have an in on a mercenary club. I believe that more nimble birds than I have bent over backwards to trying to get it. That sort of intel is solid currency. Do you carry cards? Have matching tattoos? Tell me about your identifying marks.”  


Wilson leaned back against the bar, resting his weight on his upper arms. He watched Jay narrowly for long enough that a younger Jay would have either squirmed or lashed out, probably both. Jay smiled back with exaggerated politeness.  


“I thought you didn’t want to hear about Grayson’s panty-sharks. There’s professional courtesy and then there are favors. Are you asking me for a *favor*, Todd?”  


“Hm. I don’t know, Wilson. Favors make the world go ‘round. Hypothetically, what kind of pay back would you expect?”  


“Hypothetically, I might like you to owe me.”  


“Hypothetically, I might want predetermined scope and veto options.”  


“And they say Drake is the clever one. Negotiation is always more satisfying when it’s a challenge.”  


He hadn’t seen little Robbie Red, or any of them, in what felt like years. Like fuck he cared what holes they’d dug for themselves, but he the idea of Drake negotiating with Deathstroke twisted his gut. He shouldn’t worry about Drake being out-classed. Jay wasn’t at the top of the game because he was squeamish.  


“Your expression,” Wilson hummed a laugh. “And you were doing devil-may-care so well. Drake. Who would have thought?”  


“Please do keep that piece of misinformation, whatever it may be, in the forefront of your mind,” Jay responded lazily. “Be sure to plan future action around it, critical ones even." Benny was twitching in his booth. This needed to end, post haste.  


“I’m feeling generous,” Wilson said. “Meet me for a drink when I call and I won’t kill your snitch immediately. We can discuss *scope* and *deferment* then.”  


Leaving things open-ended with Wilson was willfully reckless. Taking the offer at face value, he was agreeing to, actually, very little. Just the time it took to down a drink and wrangle a pointless negotiation. After his meet up, he didn’t care if Benny bit it. Wilson wouldn’t have any leverage.  


Wait –  


“Would ‘not immediately’ cover more or less than ten minutes?”  


“It could cover more.”  


Jay waited.  


Wilson’s grin was sharp and pleased. “It covers at least ten minutes.”  


“Done,” Jay flipped out a card with the number for a dry cleaner and an alphanumeric code penciled below it. Keying the passcode into the messaging service's prompt would route the call to an online voice account, not that he bothered explaining that. If Wilson couldn't figure it out and ended up talking with the unapologetically clueless employees at the Spotless Automat, it was no skin off Jay’s ass. He slid off his seat. The planned arch of his approach avoided blind spots, especially ones filled by known assassins.  


“Oh, and Todd – feel free to order something other than apple juice next time.”  


Jay snapped his attention back to the smug bastard at the bar. Wilson tapped the side of his nose with his index finger. Damn it, enhanced senses told Wilson exactly how much lack of alcohol was in Jay’s drink. Jay learned a long time ago that matching drinks with marks was easy when it’s apple juice against bourbon. He hadn’t planned on a drinking contest, but better prepared than dead drunk. Wilson’s going along with Jay’s little show made it look like some creepy collaboration when he was called on it.  


Wilson flourished the card between his fingers before tucking it into the breast pocket of his button down and flapped his hand in a patronizing shooing motion. Jay raged inwardly before he stuffed his anger back down. Flicking Wilson a mocking two finger salute, he stalked away less carefully than he planned.  


Benny cringed when Jay slid into the booth across from him. He was always twitchy, but he was cowering suspiciously tonight. He seemed more nervous once Jay had joined him. Not that Jay would mind giving him a reason to worry. The only reason he’d spent the end of his night in fresh hell was because he had still been waiting at the bar when Wilson came in. If Benny had been on time, he would have been long gone. He pressed his palms flat on the table and leaned forward. Starting with a loom was always good for the mood.  


“So, Benny, what amazing things do you have for me?” Benny shrunk further into his seat. Jay radiating residual irritation was probably not easing the guy’s nerves. Pity. Benny’s hand jittered to a pocket inside his coat. He slid the flash drive across the table with all of the subtly of a high school kid buying beer from a sleaze behind a liquor store.  


“My friend, you seem off tonight. Why don’t you tell Uncle Red all about it?” The way he had already worked himself up made intimidating him too easy for Jay to enjoy.  


“Uh.” Benny’s eyes flickered around the room like he was playing a life or death game of eye-spy. “Uh.” His ferrety eyes were rimmed with white as he visibly tried to pull himself together. “I. Uh. I got. Overbooked? Tonight? I didn’t want to, Red. I know your time is. Uh. Important?”  
“Is that really a question?” Jay asked coldly. Had Benny started using something new and vastly more impairing? The patience Jay had for addicts didn’t extend to someone with Benny’s irredeemable personality. “Tell me more about being overbooked. Are you cheating on me, you little information whore? When I buy your time, I expect you to say bought.”  


“I got the stuff you wanted,” Benny whined and pushed his hand through is lank thinning hair. “It’s all there. Uh, honest? There’s even a little more than you asked for! No extra charge!”  


Jay had learned glaring from the best. It was one of his first lessons while he was still tied to a chair snarling at an urban legend. Silent pressure is your friend.  


“It’s not like you, uh, expected? You… I have other contacts. Have to have other contacts...”  


“Ah Benny, I’m just shitting you.” Jay’s grin was still malicious. Benny squirmed. Of fucking course, he would stumble over being called a whore. “Calling you a whore is hardly fair. Most prostitutes are decent hardworking folks.” It’s the fuckers who push them into a corner and leave them with no choices who deserve the punishment.  


He felt eyes on him from the bar and knew his time was ticking away. Even though he'd have to cut this short, he should probably let up on the guy before he pissed himself in what were almost certainly his last moments of life.  


“So, the word?”  


“McGuffin.”  


“Seriously? The password is ‘mcguffin’? Tell me you’re not serious.”  


“The ‘I’ is a ‘1’”, Benny whined.  


Rolling his eyes, he tossed an envelope across the table and into Benny’s lap. Benny’s hands clenched around it convulsively.  


“Tell you what. Since you gave me “a little extra”, I’ll give you something back.” Jay glittered at him and lounged back against the bench seat. He stretched both arms across the shoulder high padding; vinyl, for easy cleaning. “While I waited, oh how I waited, I learned something interesting at the bar.” Benny started to turn his head towards the bar before snapping back to Jay like he was on a spring. “You should definitely look. Left corner. My left.” Wilson’s dark jacket and slacks faded in the dim lighting, but his white hair stood out well enough. Benny squeaked miserably and looked pleadingly up at Jay. “Why, I don’t believe I’ve heard a grown man make that sound in ages.” It wasn’t true, but it suited. Gesturing to Wilson, Jay said, “We had a lovely conversation.” Benny’s squeak changed to a something like air escaping from the stretched neck of a balloon. “You should thank me that you’re not already bleeding out. I have one more thing for you.” Jay propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward, “Run.”  


Benny panted twice and jerked a look between Jay and Wilson before he broke for the door. Jay wondered how far he’d get in three minutes. There was no way Wilson wouldn't catch Benny or dig him out of whatever hole he found, but there was a certain satisfaction in not making his hit easier. Wilson raised an eyebrow, waved a two finger salute (back at ya), and sauntered out of the bar after Benny.  


Tomorrow, Jay would add Benny’s final report to his files and follow up with his future ex-employer. He'd need to track down the likely candidates he’d identified as potential replacement snitches. It would take a couple of people to cover Benny’s network and time to get them all in place, but all-in-all, the night could have been worse.


	2. The mercenary walks out of the bar

Even though the night air is cool and crisp, the city still stinks like too many humans piled on top of each other. Any extended time away from home and Slade misses the African savannah. There’s nothing like the hot, dusty breeze sweeping across waist-high grass to clear his head. Of course, any extended length of time at home and the idleness leaves him itching in boredom. Big game hunting has gone harshly out of fashion. Visitors look at his trophies in askance rather than envy in this brave new world, where ‘colonizer’ is an insult. He could care less about fashion, but a man can only wrestle so many lions to the ground with only a knife and bare hands before having to reconsider the point of it. A huge maned lion is a noble beast and a good challenge; not at all like the sorry creature he was hunting tonight.  


It wouldn’t take much to track down the little weasel who skittered out of his grasp earlier. He never loses his target. Sometimes a target would get lucky and evade him for a while, but he’d close in soon enough. If it took him more than five minutes to track down Benjamin Harker, professional information broker, he’d eat his mask and give Harker a commendation before taking care of him.  


He had Todd and his favor to thank for giving the target a head start. Tonight’s work could have been an in-and-out with a tidy collection at the end, but Slade rarely passed up the chance to bait one of the bat kids. Every time he one-upped them, their faces pursed like they’d sucked a lemon. It never failed to give him a rare kind of thrill. Thrills aren’t as easy to find as they used to be. It didn’t hurt that they were easy on the eyes. Where Wayne found that many pretty black haired, blue eyed boys – he’d never know. Let alone finding a matching set with that kind of talent. Maybe he was running out of luck since he started to breed his own. Heh. He’d have to remember that for the next run-in. It would get under Todd’s skin and give Grayson or Drake hives.  


Just as well Wayne couldn’t hold on to them. Wayne and his proteges never made much sense to Slade. He played with them too much for them to be subordinates and manipulated them too much to be partners. As a soldier, Slade knows that an officer doesn’t treat his men like little buddies. Soldiers can become brothers, but leaders must maintain distance and a healthy dose of fear. Wayne seems to want both playmates and loyal minions. No wonder the little birds end up fleeing the nest bitter and wound tight with daddy issues; not unattractive leverage.  


During his occasional work with the Titans and falling into an informal mentoring role with some of the younger ones, Slade could see how it could be a challenge to maintain a professional distance. Their enthusiasm and talent was nearly irresistible. What he could do with a team of bat-trained kids and a handful of syringes of serum. It would be like money in the bank.  


It didn’t work out so well with Rose or Cassandra. Some people just aren’t strong enough to handle the side effects. It took him long enough to work through the mind-fog and mania, even if he was faking most of his symptoms so the army would cut him loose. No doubt that the girls were effected badly, but dealing with girls, you have to deal with *moods* and instability anyway. Not that he didn’t respect the hell out of them. They both learned to fight like a couple of hell-cats despite their disadvantage.  


With the lessons he learned working with the girls, not to mention the conditional disaster that was Renegade, if he were going to take on more kids, he’d have to play the long game to massage circumstances enough that they would think joining up was their idea. So far, circumstances just hadn’t cooperated. He could have picked Todd up when he was kicking around Europe in a bitter fit. Who better to beat the Bat than the world’s best assassin. He had the track record to show he could do it. He could have taken him on, trained him up, and the boy would have stayed loyal. After he made his kill, he would have had nowhere else to go. The only down side was getting into a pissing match with the al Ghuls. There’s no percentage in that.  


Around the same time, he could have picked up another bat-ling and been paid to do it. He was just too busy dealing with that mess with Dr. Light. The Bat frowned sanctimoniously on taking out Captain Boomerang, even after he killed Drake’s father. Drake’s clever, he had to give him that. The anonymous contract on Boomerang that came out shortly after the senior Drake’s death didn’t pay enough to make it worth even considering. If Slade had given it a bit more thought, he could have made the hit and earned Drake’s gratitude. It would have just taken a little coaxing to bring the kid in. He had been too busy with the dust-up with the entire Justice League to think it through.  


The League could claim that they were fighting for justice. It’s right there in the pretentious name. They showed their true colors when they skull-raped Light. He was in the wrong, no doubt. Light couldn’t have expected to walk away clean after turning Dibny’s wife inside out. Slade couldn’t be bothered with the details of Light’s sexual perversions, but a clean shot to the head would have been kinder and more ethical. If they needed hands-on vengeance, Slade would take straight forward torture to break someone. Walking away with honest blood on his hands is cleaner than wiping someone’s mind and sending them on their way like nothing happened. Slade even considered killing the filthy magic user on principle, even though no one has stepped up to pay for it yet.  


Three minutes out and one more left turn into a blind alley should get him where he needs to go. He’d have Harker and could wrap up the night. The question would be; does he stroll right in and give the mark a chance to get his back to the wall or drop down out of nowhere? He doesn’t need the element of surprise to clean this one up. Even though he’s familiar with all sorts of effluvia, he doesn’t care for the smell of piss. Todd got Harker so worked up any new surprises might just break his bladder control. Knowing Slade is coming would make it more likely.  


Rounding the corner, the wind cut out. Out of its reach, eddies of garbage lined the alley walls. The smell was distasteful. For a second, Slade wished he had put on his mask. The light mask didn’t have a rebreather, but inside the mask he would mostly smell his own breath. Tonight, his breath smelled like Randy’s best whiskey. He’d already burned through any effects of the liquor, but he didn’t mind the memories lingering.  


Harker was right where he expected him, cowering against the back wall. Intellectually, he could see where someone would feel bad for the guy, shivering with his back pressed to the cold bricks. He twitched at every sound with his bulging eyes trying to escape from his face. While he never had that problem, Slade never managed to break Renegade of his excessive empathy. Then he went and infected Rose… It’s possible that plan could have been better thought through.  


Flexing his fingers to crack his knuckles seemed a bit self-indulgent, but he was in the mood to indulge. Harker looked like he was going to vomit. Too bad Slade had to get in close.  


“At least pretend that you have some basic dignity,” Slade snapped. “If you get puke on my boots, this won’t go well or quickly for you.” To give the louse some credit, he tried to straighten up, pulling on the hem and cuffs of his cheap blazer.  
“Deathstr--,” Harker cut off.  


Slade didn’t do something as gauche as pull a knife. The short, curved blade just *was* in his hand as he lifted it to the side of his face. He tapped his cheek with the flat, saying, “Uh-ah”.  


“Uh…”  


Slade sighed, “When I’m not in-mask, it’s Wilson.”  


“You masks are… Ah crap. Okay. However you want it. I mean, of course it’s how you want it,” Harker babbled. “I mean, that’s the way I want it too.” He convulsively rolled his neck to one side. Was he stretching out a muscle or having a seizure? “That knife won’t be necessary. No knives necessary here! I have all kinds of information…”  


“It may not be necessary, but I’m fond of the blade,” Slade purred. He twisted his wrist and the edge winked in the streetlight. “It’s a *lovely* blade, don’t you agree, Harker”.  


Harker worked his jaw for a second, watching the blade with laser focus, before nodding hesitantly.  


“It was specially designed for flensing. Hard to get a solid flensing blade. Do you know what that is?”  


Harker wrenched out a jerky head shake.  


“Flensing is removing the skin and underlayer of fat from a carcass. The goal is to remove sections of skin and subcutaneous fat in one piece, without displacing the fat layer, or damaging the hide or musculature underneath. It can be both delicate and grueling work, but when done just right, it’s beautiful. There’s not as much call for it as there used to be. You’re not a *young* man, Harker, you know how harshly things can change.”  


“L-look man, I – ah- I can tell you about the masks; Black Mask, red, green, bats, cats – whatever color or animal theme you want to know about. You want cops on the take? I got’em. Hard-ass cops who won’t look the other way? No problem. Gangs looking for runners? Gangs looking for lieutenants? I can tell you. You want to know which local businesses are screwing their employees out of their retirement savings? I’m your guy! Jus’, man, you don’t need that…”  


“Being able to ride change,” Slade said, contemplatively, looking like his attention was entirely on the flickering blade and didn’t hear anything Harker was saying, “is a thing of beauty too. It’s good that our little change tonight with you leaving the bar didn’t put us too far behind schedule. Did you think you wouldn’t be found when you dashed off?”  


“I thought… You said… I didn’t think…”  


“It sounds like you’re having trouble thinking clearly.”  


“I just – Hood said ‘RUN’.”  


“And you just do what he says regardless of any other commitments?”  


“Are you-? Well, yeah! He was pissed, man. I swear he was going to eat me alive if I didn’t get out of his sight. You have to… Eeep.”  


Slade rested the point of his knife on the tip of Harker’s nose. “You knew I’d still deal with you.”  


Harker’s affirmative was barely a breath.  


“Did you think tracking you down would make me feel *charitable*? Perhaps slogging through this trash-filled alley would make me more likely to handle you tenderly?”  


“No, sir,” Harker whispered. Blood beaded on his nose.  


“Good boy. Whose fault is this, Harker?”  


“Red Hood’s!”  


“Wrong answer. Care to try again?” The knife slid across the bridge of his nose, up his cheek bone to rest under his left eye.  


“MINE! It was my fault! I’m sorry, sir. All my fault,” Harker sniveled. “I should have… Uh…” He squinted up at Slade. “I should have stayed at The Drop? And, uh, asked you… for protection?”  


“You’d come scurrying over and try to shelter under my wing,” Slade snorted a laugh. “Wrong answer again. You might actually have lost your eye if you tried that. What exactly do you think I do for a living?”  


“You do protection. Sometimes.”  


“Rarely and not as a first choice.” It was messier than a clean kill. “You couldn’t afford me.”  


“I,” a tear leaked out of the corner of Harker’s eye, but he pulled up resolve from somewhere. “I know the value of what I do. We could, uh, exchange services?”  


“What do you suggest?” Slade glared at him narrowly, knife not pressed so firmly to Harker’s skin.  


“I’ll give you the p-packet for free - and, um, half of Hood’s payment. You keep him from killing me.”  


“Considering that you were late to meet Hood because I rescheduled our meeting, the least I can do is give you a discount. I’ll take the packet and all of Hood’s payment. In exchange, I’ll protect you from The Hood for 24 hours. That should be enough time for him to get over his tantrum.” Slade tucked the knife away as a token of good faith.  


“All the payment? I gotta eat!”  


“The dead don’t eat, boy.”  


“Fine. You can have the whole thing, but I want 48 hours. His tantrums come with lots of guns.”  


“Throw in any information you can dig up about Jason P. Todd and we have a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mercenary and a freelancer walk into a bar.
> 
> They’re both there to meet their informants. They discover their informants are the same guy. The informant holds up his mud-streaked hand in greeting.


End file.
